Love in the little things

Things that I love.

Marc’s cold hairy knees pressing into the backs of my (warm, hairless) knees, as we spoon together at night.

That first sip of vanilla latte – all sweet steamed milk, espresso and foam.

Finally smelling spring in the air.


The funny way my big sister always says, “Oh hellooooo” at the beginning of our Skype calls.

Short sundresses.

Telling a joke and then pausing, so to let the audience’s laughter wash over me, like a wave made out of happiness.

Managing the trifecta of hair removal – leg shave, armpit shave, brow pluck – ALL IN ONE GO.

When my little sister calls me WAWA.

Finally watching 30Rock.

My poppy-red coat that makes me feel like Paddington Bear.

Kitten kisses.

Kitten snoozes?
Kitten snoozes?

Cleaning the shower REALLY WELL (and then using it right away.)

Eating chocolate covered cinnamon buns.

Sprinting so hard until I feel as though the only way to put out the fire in my lungs is to barf them right up.

My mum’s broken sarcasm detector. (“Oh that’s not true…IS IT!?”)

Looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I look really pretty today.

I think I do today too!
I think I do today too!

Laughing with friends until I think I am going to pee my pants.

Quoting Arrested Development, The Big Lebowski, A Fish Called Wanda, Rushmore, Love Actually, and Mean Girls all the gosh-darned time.

She doesn’t even go here…

Having a mad dance party in my underwear, in a Top Shop change room because the song playing at that very moment was just too good not to.

Boardwalk brunches.



My brilliant friends.

My amazing family.

My beautiful man.


Never forget.

Always, always you.

Just me, lost in thought

I feel like it has been raining for years.

And I will wake up tomorrow, webbed and gilled, a green-skinned lily-pad.

My eyes slick sliver, like salmon skin.

I sit here, watching the skies melt, with a kitten wrapped around herself. She is unaware of this other wet world; this place without food, without fires; warm beds, and sleepy heads.

Myself, well, I am drawn to the grey.

The strange semi-stillness of a night drawing near.

Mischief realized.

Heartbreak thwarted.

Coming home with a grocery bag filled with potential.


Or adventure?

Mugs of piping chai, thick woolen blankets, and the tap, tapping of a lost-lover’s knock on my window panes.

The SOS of ten thousand teardrops.

And I see the lights across the river, blinking.

Like an old man, lost in thought.